La Tristesse Durera
by Kirinki
Summary: Slash: Ron/Draco. Draco has used Ron. Ron muses angstily. Not a happy fic. Oh, and a songfic. Better than it sounds, I promise.


Rating: PG-13  
  
Pairing: Ron/Draco  
  
Archive: go ahead, just email first and give me the link if you want it.  
  
Contact: leopardskinqueen@yahoo.co.uk  
  
Summary: Draco has used Ron. Ron is not dealing well. Angsty musing ensues. Songfic to Van Morrison's "Cyprus Avenue". Originally a happy song about the start of a relationship, it has become a dark and twisted thing in my hands.  
  
A/N: yes, I'm making people miserable again. This is pretty angsty. And short. And little chance of a happy sequel. Sorry!  
  
Disclaimer: I own nothing. No profit is being made. Please don't sue, as I have no money. Harry Potter and all associated characters are owned by JK Rowling, and "Cyprus Avenue" is owned by Van Morrison.  
  
  
  
Its pouring with rain. I sit outside, becoming increasingly more drenched with each passing moment. I don't care. I feel so desensitised at the moment I can barely feel anything. I've been used, and it hurts. So a little rain doesn't mean much to me anymore.  
  
  
  
And I'm conquered in a car seat  
  
Not a thing that I can do  
  
  
  
I'm sitting in the pouring rain, looking up at his house. Where he's warm, happy, and not feeling even a tinge of regret. He used me.  
  
  
  
I may go crazy  
  
Before that mansion on the hill  
  
  
  
The pain he's caused- I've never felt anything like it. I was vulnerable and lonely, feeling invisible. He picked up on that, and he used me.  
  
  
  
I may go crazy  
  
Before that mansion on the hill  
  
  
  
He told me I was special, that I wasn't as worthless as I thought I was. He kissed me, whispered soft words in my ear. He broke down my defences, convinced me he meant it. Told me I was beautiful and made me feel good. And then, well, he used me.  
  
  
  
And the leaves fall one by one by one by one  
  
Call the autumn time a fool  
  
  
  
God, while it was happening it was so wonderful. He peeled away my layers of self-defence, made me vulnerable, so emotionally frail. I let him. It was a mistake. For he used me.  
  
  
  
Yeah baby my tongue gets tied  
  
Every every every time I try to speak  
  
  
  
The worst thing is, I cannot tell him he's hurt me. For I know he will not understand: he will just laugh. He seemed so warm, so caring that night, but in reality he is exactly how he looks; ice cold. It may be a cliché, but sometimes clichés are the only thing which can really express how things are. And, again, another cliché: He used me.  
  
  
  
My tongue gets tied  
  
Every time I try to speak  
  
And my insides shake just like a leaf on a tree  
  
  
  
And now, I'm a mess. Sitting out in the pouring rain, getting more drenched by the minute. Remembering that night. How your skin felt, how your hair felt. The kind words, the caresses. As you used me.  
  
  
  
And I'm conquered in a car seat  
  
And I'm looking straight at you  
  
  
  
I remember looking up at you, afterwards. And seeing a glimpse of the coldness in your eyes. I pushed it away then, not wanting to believe it. Not wanting to believe that you really didn't care, that I meant nothing to you. Not wanting to believe that you had used me.  
  
  
  
The avenue of trees  
  
Keep walking down  
  
In the wind and the rain, darling  
  
You keep walking down when the sun shone through the trees  
  
  
  
And now I'm thinking about how different our lives are. How everything is good for you: you have money, influence, power. You have the strength to not allow people to hurt you and to not allow the hurt you cause others to affect you. Whereas I have none of these things. My family are poor. I am seen as merely the friend of "The Boy Who Lived". I am nothing special. I cannot recover from hurt as well as you can. And all this left me wide open for you to use me.  
  
  
  
Nobody, no, no, no, nobody stops me from loving you baby  
  
  
  
Despite all this, I can't get over it. I can't get past the loving words, the tenderness from you that seemed so real. Mostly I still believe that you really meant it, that you want me. Which is why I am sitting in the pouring rain, looking up at your house, getting more drenched by the minute. You seduced me when I needed some affection, when all around me were outshining me. And that need is still there. I suppose that is what is driving this, making me hang on to a pathetic hope I know isn't real. You showed me what it felt like to feel special. Even though you used me. 


End file.
